


Real Me

by h_itoshi



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: A big fat non-idols AU, Gay Panic, M/M, Mostly lyrics though but don't worry there's paint, Plus random gf, Real me inspired, booze and clubs and all that, in the angsty way, is this a reasonable birthday fic because it was meant to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 16:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_itoshi/pseuds/h_itoshi
Summary: One moment, Fujigaya's smiling so much his cheeks almost hurt, laughing about some ridiculous story Kawai's telling that doesn't contain a speck of truth.The next moment, he's frozen in his seat, eyes forced so wide they start tearing, but he can't even blink because he can't believe it.





	Real Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Look at me writing a massive angsty kisumai fic. Didn't see that coming huh? But seriously have you seen Real Me I mean I HAD to write something. And at first I hated this idea but then I finally figured out how to do it and bam, finished, 8k in one day.   
I am aware nobody reads kisumai anymore but at least now it's out there. Enjoy!

One moment, Fujigaya's smiling so much his cheeks almost hurt, laughing about some ridiculous story Kawai's telling that doesn't contain a speck of truth. He's got a cocktail in his hand because nobody has to pretend to like beer at a gay club during Pride celebration, even if you're there with a pretty girlfriend who allegedly dragged you there. Even if he's the one with the gay friends and she's just enjoying the company, having fun and trying out umbrella drinks with glitter while listening to underground club performers, one more extravagant than the other.

The next moment, he's frozen in his seat, eyes forced so wide they start tearing, but he can't even blink because he can't believe it.

He didn't hear the introduction, didn't care, until he turned towards the stage at the raging applause. A short man with a killer body just entered the stage. His hair is purposely tousled like he just got laid, his eyes hooded, enhanced with a dark smoky eyeliner. He's wearing a black leather jacket with gray fur covering the shoulders like the cloak of a tribal leader, black jeans skintight and heavy military boots ready to crush. He looks feral, practically exuding pheromones as he walks up to the mic stand like he owns the entire world. As he reaches up for the microphone, his leather jacket slides apart to reveal a bare chest with streaks of black paint across it, like he'd been scratched by a bear but barely bruised. He looks like an alpha wolf on the hunt, and Fujigaya can't breathe.

Kitayama.

A messy whirlwind of images pop up in Fujigaya's brain at record speed and he tries to contain them, but he still can't seem to get a breath in and he almost thinks he's going to pass out.

A genuine laugh at the school rooftop. Midnight wind in poorly bleached hair at the beach. Alcohol glazed eyes lit up by cigarette glow and a bitter smile. Furious eyes with hands curling to fists and rising for a punch. Lips parted in shameless ecstasy. The cold mask trying stoically not to show the pain. A single tear on tan cheeks.

“Hey!” A nudge to his shoulder that's too hard to be sober brings him back to reality, causing him to reflexively draw a deep breath like he was hauled up from under water. “Something wrong?”

Tamamori doesn't know, and it's all Fujigaya can do to smile shakily without taking his eyes off the man on stage. “I'm fine.”

“Totally get it.” Tamamori says sensibly. “Won't tell Aya you think he's hot.”

Fujigaya couldn't care less about his girlfriend's opinion right now, and he's already tuning Tamamori out as Kitayama opens his mouth to start singing.

It's a rock song, the lyrics very young and punk, but Fujigaya doesn't really listen to what he's singing, because the voice is the problem. Kitayama's slightly nasal, deep and rich voice that burrows into his system like someone injected his blood directly with hormones, and he finds himself shuddering as that voice hits a particularly low note.

He blames his obvious overreaction on not being prepared, on never in a million years expecting to see Kitayama here. He briefly wonders if Kawai knew, if he finally committed a sin bad enough to deserve the death Fujigaya often threatens him with, but then Kitayama's voice almost transitions into a growl and Fujigaya feels goosebumps spreading down his arms.

He's not even sure what he's feeling, his mind bringing up emotion after emotion and the waves of unbearable panic are followed by relief, doubt, hate, guilt, hope and more panic. The only consistant thing is the one feeling he refuses to acknowledge despite its physical representation.

He's swelling in his pants as he watches Kitayama's hands, clad in fingerless gloves in black leather, slide down the microphone stand like it's a lover, his body moving effortlessly to the heavy guitar riffs like he can feel them in his nervous system. His eyes closing more often than not to show off the smudge of black, and when they pop open again so gloriously fierce, the heat hits Fujigaya like an actual punch. He blames it on the alcohol and the messy memories.

Then everything seems to freeze.

Time stops, sounds are drowned out as the only thing Fujigaya can hear is a loud buzz in his ears, thoughts erased from his mind as those dark eyes lock with his own.

It feels like a minute but can't be more than a second, but Fujigaya feels those eyes pierce him like sharp spears were driven through his chest, sees the widening followed by the flash of fury, then the narrowing as eye contact is broken.

Fujigaya wishes he could have done something to protect himself. Put on his life saving mask of indifference, but there was no way. Kitayama always read him best anyway.

And so he should expect the next thing that happens. Kitayama very pointedly rolls his hips against the mic stand, whips his head to the side and turns back with wispy bangs in his firey eyes. He plays up the sex in a way that would never be allowed at a normal club, but this is a gay club during Pride. Anything goes.

He runs his hands through his hair, pulls at it, scratches lightly down his throat and splays his hand over his bare chest, hips constantly in motion and the hand moving down finally slips inside his own pants for a moment that seems to last forever but is probably only a second.

Fujigaya doesn't hear the audience until the song is over, the whistles and applause and calls for more, but Kitayama just gives a coy smile before leaving the stage with even more power than he arrived with.

“I wanna bang him.” He hears Tamamori speak up, and Miyata makes an affronted noise as if on cue, but doesn't argue because what's the point.

But Fujigaya's jealousy is so intense he wants to smack Tamamori straight in the face and snarl at him to back off. Even though he knows he's got no right, absolutely not considering his girlfriend since five months is sitting two chairs away, and Tamamori's not the only one in this club who wants to bang Kitayama right now. Quite the opposite.

“You okay dude?” Kawai leans over to ask, and Fujigaya finally manages to tear his eyes from the now empty stage. He has to blink a little because his eyes feel dry, like he's been watching a bright screen in a dark room, and he realizes at the cooling sensation on his skin that's he's in cold sweat.

Kawai looks concerned, frowning as he eyes Fujigaya carefully, but everyone else around seems pleasantly shocked at what they just saw, a lot of people shifting uncomfortably or giving each other pointed looks.

“I... I'll be right back.” Fujigaya settles, rising to leave for the bathroom, which is the first thing he can think of that's away from his girlfriend, who's eyeing him a little warily from across the table.

“I'll come with you.” Kawai says, not an offer even though it comes off that way, and Fujigaya's grateful for the enforced company as he almost loses his footing at one point and Kawai catches him.

It's not until they're locked together in a dirty bathroom stall that Fujigaya falls apart.

“What's _he_ doing here?!” Fujigaya hisses, leaning heavily against the thin wall of the stall as he doesn't trust his legs to hold him up, his vision threatening to black out from the corners.

“Easy, easy! Sit down, breathe.” Kawai urges, firmly grabbing Fujigaya's arm and forces him to sit down on the toilet, shoving his head down between his legs like they're on a crashing plane.

Fujigaya makes a face at the smell from the dirty floor that comes much closer, but he must admit the little black dots fleeting in his vision slowly fade away.

“Are you okay?” Kawai asks cautiously, dropping down to squat before him, and as Fujigaya glances up he sees how concerned Kawai really is about him right now.

“No.” He says weakly, and Kawai reaches out to supportively pat his knee.

“Are you still passing out?” He asks instead, sounding more confident, and Fujigaya shakes his head, slowly straightening up to sitting and taking a couple deep breaths. “Good, that was kinda scary you know.”

“... What's he doing here?” Fujigaya repeats, even though he doesn't expect Kawai to have an answer, but it's the only question circulating in his mind right now.

How unfair the whole situation is, how unprepared he was, how he never wanted to see Kitayama again in his life and that there's 10 million people in Tokyo, how the hell could he accidentally meet him again.

“I have no idea. I had no idea.” Kawai says, shrugging but at least he looks honest. “I haven't spoken to him in years.”

They went to school together, the three of them. But Kawai was always Fujigaya's friend first and after all the toxicity happening, he didn't keep in touch with Kitayama.

“Me neither.” Fujigaya whines, feeling his heart rate picking up again as he sees Kitayama's feral eyes before him. “I never wanted to see him again.”

“I can tell why.” Kawai clearly can't help himself, and Fujigaya aims a slap at him but he's too far away and he's got no energy to make an effort. “Okay okay, so now what? Are you gonna talk to him?”

“No!” Fujigaya calls, panic grasping at his heart again and squeezing it so tightly it's hard to breathe.

Kawai rolls his eyes but then sternly looks at Fujigaya until he takes a couple deep breaths in a row.

“Honestly Taipi, this is the most unhealthy reaction to seeing an ex I've ever seen.” He says, and he sounds serious. “You're not even that drunk.”

“What do you know?” Fujigaya snarls, always close to his trigger point when emotions are discussed, but Kawai's so used to it he only raises an eyebrow where others would flee.

“Much more than I wish I knew.” He says pointedly, and Fujigaya groans, falling forward to hide his face in his hands because Kawai's right as usual.

He was there for all of it, and what he wasn't immediately a part of, Fujigaya shared anyway.

“You should talk to him.” Kawai encourages, voice low and even. “You're obviously never going to forget him as things are now.”

“I can't talk to him!” Fujigaya gets out, voice almost breaking with adrenaline as he looks up at Kawai, pointedly raising his hand that trembles in the air. “Look at me, I'm a wreck!”

“So what's your plan?” Kawai asks, tone annoyed now and Fujigaya already knows he's going to say something real. “Go home and think about him for another five years, wondering what would have happened if you did talk to him? I saw your face when you looked at him Taisuke, you're not fooling anyone into believing you don't care for him, especially not yourself.”

“I just... I don't know what I feel, right now I just want it to go away.” Fujigaya says, feeling like he might cry as he lowers his shaking hand into his lap again.

“I know.” Kawai's words actually have a note of compassion, before he goes on. “But it won't go away. If it hasn't gone away at all in five years, I don't see what options you have. Just talk to him. It'll take things down to reality?”

“I... Don't think I can do it. Physically or mentally.” Fujigaya says, hoping Kawai understands how serious he is about it. He's terrified that Kitayama's going to wreck him again, just like last time. He never even had to try.

Kawai sighs, slowly straightening up to standing again. “Well, I'm not going to force you.”

The rest of the sentence rings clear in Fujigaya's head despite being unspoken. But you're a fucking coward if you don't.

That was always his problem. Being a coward. Scared of what could happen, of facing consequences of his actions, of hurting other people and hurting himself.

“... I hate you.” Fujigaya says weakly, but Kawai just shrugs and announces he's going back.

Fujigaya stays for what feels like forever after Kawai's gone, trying to wrap his brain around what he's feeling, what he wants, what he should do.

Silently wondering if Kitayama's feeling any of the things he does right now. Or if he's entirely unbothered, if he's over everything that has to do with Fujigaya and living his life happily. Not having heartaches when someone orders his latte at starbucks, not being unable to look at old school photos or books, not having to catch himself when telling stories sometimes because he's unsure what to call Fujigaya.

Finally, he stands up and returns, determined to let this whole encounter be something he just drunkenly made up and something he'll forget. It already feels surreal, like it couldn't have been Kitayama at all. Just someone very alike him.

“Are you okay?” Aya leans over to ask as he slips down in Miyata's empty chair when he returns, and Fujigaya finds himself irritated by her concern, her gentle touch to his thigh.

“Yeah. Just feel a little sick is all.” He says, figuring it's the most legit excuse. “I'm better now.”

“Do you want to go home?” She asks, frowning, but Fujigaya shakes his head before he knows what he's doing.

“No, I'm good.” He insists, and he wants to kill something as he knows deep down that there's only one reason he doesn't want to leave yet.

“Are you sure?” She wonders, tone a little more playful as her hand slides further up his thigh, and Fujigaya reflexively shifts away in a way he's never done before.

“I'm sure.” He says, surprised at his own reaction and does the first thing he can think of to cover it up. “Actually, I could imagine another drink.”

“... Okay.” Aya blinks at him, eyebrows barely knitted together in a hint of concern, but she follows him to the bar.

Fujigaya tries his best to enjoy the rest of the night like he usually does, but he can't shake the nagging feeling of anxiety and he hates it.

He ends up sitting by the table staring at nothing while the others are off dancing together, slowly working on his courage despite himself because nothing else fits in his brain.

Maybe he should talk to him. Just say hi at least. Show that there's nothing wrong with him, that they're just old acquaintances meeting by chance. Shove in Kitayama's face how fine he is now, despite not being fine at all. Maybe Kitayama's not the same anymore, maybe he's so different Fujigaya doesn't recognize him. Maybe he can stop wondering what could have been if that's how it is. He's considering bringing Aya just to show her off, but he finds himself not wanting to. Not like he's done with his other exes, showing his new beautiful girlfriend just because. But Kitayama wouldn't be impressed if he so dated Angelina Jolie.

He finds his feet taking him to the stage entrance by the bar without actively deciding to go, his heart beating hard in his chest again as he imagines what Kitayama might say to him.

But he's faced with a buff looking dude in black blocking the door that clearly reads “STAFF ONLY”.

“What do you want?” The buff man asks as Fujigaya just stands there looking at him, the unexpected hindrance throwing him off.

“I...” Fujigaya starts, then clears his throat and decides to just go for it. “I want to see Kitayama.”

The name leaves a bad taste in his mouth when he speaks it, the first time in years since he never speaks about him anymore, and it distracts him so much he doesn't realize the dude is laughing at him at first.

“You and everyone else in here. Beat it.” He says, nodding towards the dance floor, and Fujigaya's cheeks flush indignantly as he realizes what he seems like.

“I do know him.” He says fiercely, trying to prove that he's just not some horny guy while being blindingly jealous that those exist.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” The guy rolls his eyes, clearly not believing him, and if Fujigaya wasn't so offended at the assumption he's just a dumb fanboy, he'd give up.

“Can I give him a note?” He asks instead, and the guy raises an eyebrow at him for a moment like he's very annoying, but then sighs.

“Sure, leave him a note.” He says, his tone resigned verging on mocking, but Fujigaya doesn't care.

He finds a receipt in his pocket and asks a scantily clad bartender for a pencil, finding himself staring at the blank paper before him with no idea what to write.

But the guy watches him impatiently and Fujigaya just writes the first thing he can think of.

“If you could imagine talking to me”, his phone number, and after a moment's hesitation, he signs with his first name.

He folds the receipt two times just in case, and hands the tiny note to the skeptic man watching him.

“Please give it to him.” Fujigaya says politely, then goes to the other side of the bar to order a tequila shot because he can't handle this much anxiety mostly sober.

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, Fujigaya regrets every single drop of alcohol he's consumed in his entire life, thinking that he's way too old to drink like that. At least he blinks his eyes open to his own bedroom and sees Aya's messy hair on the pillow next to him, but he can't remember how he got home.

He spends the day brutally hungover, much more so than Aya, and he honestly can't wait for her to go home even though they only lie on the couch watching movies and eating pizza. He feels uncomfortable in a way that has nothing to do with the hangover and everything to do with last night. He heavily regrets leaving a note to some stupid bouncer, not to mention what he wrote on the note, even questions if it really was Kitayama he saw.

But he knows. He would never make that mistake. It just feels extremely surreal as he lies on his own living room couch trying to avoid the daylight, that he could ever meet him just like that. Like it must have been a dream, or at least a drunken hallucination. Until Aya brings him up.

“It was great last night, we should go there again.” She speaks up, reaching out to put her water glass down on the table. “Some of the performers were really cool, Miyata really knows his clubs.”

“Yeah, guess he does.” Fujigaya replies unenthusiatically, but it's not worse than the whining he's done so far.

“That guy with the fur and war paint for example, you remember him? Totally hot.” Aya muses, half her focus on the TV while Fujigaya's entire insides seem to freeze.

“I don't think I remember.” He mutters, managing to get the words out over the huge lump growing in his chest.

“Really? That's a shame, he was a great singer. I could imagine a concert with him.” She says honestly, picking up her phone to lazily scroll some more social media.

Fujigaya's body seems to defrost in half a second, inducing a wave of nausea, and Fujigaya slowly pushes the blanket aside to rise. “I'm gonna go puke.”

Aya looks up, a little confused, but he clearly looks as bad as he feels because she frowns in worry. “Okay. Let me know if I should hold your hair?”

It's half teasing and half concern but Fujigaya won't have either of it right now so he doesn't reply, simply locks himself in the bathroom and slides to the floor, no actual intention of throwing up.

Right now, he hates Aya. Except in reality he hates himself.

Hates himself for how affected he is, how he can't get Kitayama's stupid face and stupid voice out of his head, how he can't stop half hoping that Kitayama got his note after all even when he tries to tell himself that's _not_ what he wants. He doesn't want to see Kitayama again. He never wants to hear about him and Aya shouldn't even know he exists. That's how his world has stayed balanced for the past five years.

Fujigaya ends up running a bath just to get away for longer, and he feels horrible for avoiding his girlfriend instead of confiding in her. But there are a lot of things she doesn't know about him yet, and he's pretty sure that Kitayama is the last thing he'd tell a partner about. Some stories are just too complicated.

* * *

He still feels uneasy going to work Monday morning, and even though the little sunshine smiles of the kindergarden kids who love him and begs to braid his hair usually melt away any bad feelings, it doesn't work this time.

Even his co-worker looks concerned and asks if he's alright when they're outside in the playground, and Fujigaya realizes he has to fucking shape up. So he smiles and says he's just tired from the weekend, and decides to keep the façade up no matter what.

It almost works. Tuesday is a pretty normal day, he only spaces out once or twice, but at least Aya's busy with work and he knows he can have the night alone to mope so that helps.

Until he's leaving work for the day, hangs up his apron and fishes out his phone from his bag as he does every day. And the top notification on his screen is a text message from an unknown number.

_I could imagine talking to you. Coffee Thursday?_

There's no signature, but he knows who the message is from. It couldn't be anyone else. And suddenly, his heart is beating so fast he has to sit down, trying to control his instantly dropping blood pressure.

Until he hears footsteps and remembers he's at work, forcing himself to stand up and get out of here, determinedly dropping his phone back into his bag in order not to look at it.

Except obviously he has to look at it, as soon as he finds a seat on the train he can't keep himself from it any longer. He picks up his phone, just watching the message on his screen, vaguely recognizing the last digits of the phone number from way back. He doesn't realize he's been staring at the preview for a ridiculously long time until someone sits down next to him and he finds they're at the next station already. He shifts a little bit to let the elderly lady next to him sit more comfortably, and pointedly decides to do everything else on his phone before replying.

If it took Kitayama three days to reply, he doesn't have to be too eager either.

The thing is that patience isn't Fujigaya's strongest side, and the minute he locks the door to his apartment he has his reply figured out. Not like it was rocket science to think of something, but he's still ashamed of his desperate note and therefore he feels a need to sound casual.

_I work until 5 but if it's after that, sure._

He types, but hovers over the send button and suddenly he feels nauseous again, second guessing if he really wants this and thinks about how utterly stupid this is. But then he sees Kawai's judging look before his inner eye and simply pushes the button before he can change his mind, closing his eyes hard for a few moments until he knows the message must be sent and there's no going back.

The little notification under his message reads delivered, and he tosses his phone aside and heads to the bathroom to have a shower and try to calm his goddamn heart rate by not seeing the reply immediately when it comes. Only when he returns, there's no reply yet, and he feels himself deflate like a balloon.

It's not until late that night that there's any response, Fujigaya should already be sleeping but he's chatting with Aya because she's walking home from the train, and he expects the buzz from his phone to be a message from her. But it's not.

_Works for me! Tell me where to meet you and I'll be there._

Fujigaya racks his brain for places to meet, places that are neutral and safe and nowhere near his own workplace. Finally he suggests an exit at Shinjuku station at 6 because that's easy, and the reply is simply a thumbs up emoji.

Another message shows up on his screen, from Aya, and suddenly the conversation they're having feels very unimportant despite having interested him just two minutes ago.

Fujigaya breathes a deep sigh, already preparing for a sleepless night as his eyes linger on the thumbs up emoji for a couple long seconds before dutifully opening his chat with Aya instead.

* * *

When Thursday arrives, Fujigaya has spent 48 hours as a nervous wreck and he's so ready to just get it over with. He's gone through every possible scenario in his head, or at least he thinks he has. If he's thought about Kitayama revealing he's actually a robot meant to destroy Fujigaya's life, he should have thought about everything.

He even has a game plan. He'll try and be late so Kitayama will have to wait for him because he hates waiting himself, then they'll just have a quick coffee somewhere at the station and at 7, he'll say he has to get home to his girlfriend and leave. Nothing Kitayama says or does will change that plan.

But, as usual, the universe loves destroying Fujigaya's plans, and he accidentally catches an express train to Shinjuku and finds himself at the correct side of the station at twenty minutes to six.

Giving in, he finds the decided exit and picks up his phone, trying to will himself to focus on it rather than looking up every other second. He considers going to the bathroom to check his look again, but he feels his hair starting to escape from its style due to the moisture and he can't do anything about it anyway. He spent almost the entire day yesterday mentally choosing his outfit for this, one that would be hot as hell while saying he's not taken and happy. Unfortunately, most of his hot clothes are slutty. In the end, he went with a printed brand T-shirt, a jeans jacket with rolled up sleeves and black jeans, which he normally feels cool in but now he can't help feeling like an overgrown middle schooler. Even the sunglasses feels like he's trying too hard despite being a perfectly reasonable accessory since it _is_ summer and sunny.

He scrolls instagram almost frantically despite having already seen most of the posts, accidentally unliking a couple photos when trying to like them again, too busy watching the minutes pass at the top of the screen to actually focus.

“Hey.” A voice suddenly speaks very close to him and Fujigaya nearly jumps out of his skin.

His head whips around so quickly it almost hurts, but he can't hold on to the scowl from the shock as he faces the man he tried to forget existed for the past five years.

He's not sure what he expected, but there's a hot punch of emotions straight to his stomach as he takes in Kitayama looking about as far from a dominant gay club performer imaginable.

He's tanned like a god, eyes brown and warm and he's smiling softly, wearing blue capri jeans and a white T-shirt with a plaid shirt tied around his waist, a summery hat decorating his brown hair.

“Hey.” Fujigaya finally replies, trying to ignore how quickly his heart is beating.

“You look good.” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya swallows despite the compliment being very effortless.

“You too.” He says automatically, trying to keep his tone casual but he wonders if he manages.

“Wanna go get something to drink?” Kitayama goes on, and Fujigaya simply nods, following Kitayama who seems to know exactly where he's going.

They walk in silence as Kitayama leads him through the station to a Starbucks, and Fujigaya tries to spend all his time not looking at Kitayama, but ends up doing the opposite. He smells really good too, not like Fujigaya remembers, but more adult, more masculine yet not too much and it makes something itch under Fujigaya's skin.

He already knows he made a massive mistake coming here, already drawn to Kitayama like a moth to light and he finds his eyes lingering on Kitayama's profile, his cute nose and soft cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on his neck and the way his black string bracelet contrasts his skin.

They order, and Fujigaya determinedly gets his usual iced coffee with a feeling of justification when Kitayama smiles in recognition.

There's a free table furthest in, next to the glass wall showing a busy station walkway, but it still feels very private as Fujigaya sits down in an armchair, Kitayama opposite him.

Fujigaya watches Kitayama sip his frappucino while watching the people passing outside for a few moments like he finds this silence comfortable, trying to think of something to say but he can't.

“So. How are you?” Kitayama asks, still watching the crowd for another moment before turning to look at Fujigaya, and now he wishes Kitayama would keep watching something else.

“I'm good.” Fujigaya says automatically, even though he's not sure that's the correct answer. “I work a lot, but I'm good.”

“Yeah?” Kitayama raises his eyebrows in interest. “What do you do?”

“I'm a kindergarden teacher.” Fujigaya says, shrugging a little because it's not the most glamorous job for a man in his mid twenties, but Kitayama's lips curve into a genuine smile.

“Really? That's great, don't you love kids?”

“I do.” Fujigaya can't help smiling back, and he could swear Kitayama's smile reflexively grows to match his. “I like my job at least, even if it's not the most prestigeous one.”

“Hey, no need to get prestigeous with me, not like I'm a lawyer or doctor myself.” Kitayama shrugs, tone going teasing and Fujigaya rolls his eyes almost as an innate response.

“I must admit, I was kind of surprised.” Fujigaya says, and he means Kitayama's career choice but he sees in the changing expression before him that Kitayama read more into it.

“I was kind of surprised too.” He says smoothly, voice even but there's a hint of sting underneath it. “I didn't think I'd ever see you at a gay club.”

“My friend dragged me along.” Fujigaya says, immediately trying to shrug off the uncomfortable subject and grabs his coffee for an excuse to look away. “And Kawai wanted to go.”

“You still tight with him?” Kitayama asks, thankfully letting Fujigaya drop the obviously explosive subject, and Fujigaya nods and starts complaining about Kawai.

They talk about common friends for a while then, catching up with each others families and lives but some subjects are firmly avoided. Like partners, and Kitayama's job, and that first year after high school.

It's so easy and still so difficult to talk to him, Fujigaya thinks, because one minute it's like they were never apart, their inside jokes still valid and he still knows almost everything about Kitayama's personality there is to know. But the next minute, the tension gathers in the air in a millisecond, a wrong choice of words or a subtle tone and they both end up treading carefully on the thin ice crust covering the abyss that came between them those years ago.

Until Kitayama decides to break it.

“Why did you want to see me?” He asks after a moment of comfortable silence after a joke, voice serious as he looks up at Fujigaya under lashes, absently playing with the straw of his empty plastic mug.

Fujigaya opens his mouth to say something generic, something like he thought it would be nice to catch up, but he seems to choke on the words and nothing comes out. But Kitayama just watches him, waiting, and he speaks the first thing his brain comes up with.

“I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about you if I didn't.”

He regrets the sentence as soon as he's spoken it, wants to smack himself for not thinking that through, but Kitayama just leans back in his chair as his fingers stop fussing with the mug.

“... Really?” He asks, but his tone is almost threatening, like he's daring Fujigaya to go the wrong direction with his reply, and Fujigaya has no idea which direction that is.

“I...” He starts, but then trails off, feeling like he's painted himself into a corner already and he hates feeling like that. Especially with Kitayama who always had to fucking outsmart him, always older and wiser and more enlightened. So he figures if he can't get out, he might as well stride straight across the painted floor. “I was convinced I'd completely forgotten you but clearly, I hadn't. So I thought maybe it would help to see you and talk about it.”

“It?” Kitayama repeats, his voice still that threatening tone even though his expression looks more wary. “What is 'it' in this context, exactly?”

“I don't know!” Fujigaya exclaims, then quickly quiets down, frustrated by how guilty he feels and he doesn't know where to pick up, because he definitely knows what 'it' is and he doesn't want to be the one to bring up his own mistakes.

Kitayama sits quiet for another moment, just watching him searchingly.

“You haven't changed at all, have you?” He finally asks, and his tone is strange, like a mix between accusing and fond.

“Have you?” Fujigaya counters fiercely, because even though the words might not be all negative that's all he hears.

“More than you.” Kitayama says and Fujigaya feels an angry blush heat his cheeks but he still doesn't know what to say.

The silence stretches, and Fujigaya wonders if Kitayama's busy thinking about it too. Their disaster of a relationship. Much more than friends but never really lovers, constantly fighting, accidentally and purposely hurting each other over and over. How many times they were so close to actually stepping over that line to become something more, until it finally happened and it fucked them up so badly they ended up here.

“You should come see my show tomorrow night.” Kitayama finally speaks up, and Fujigaya's so lost in his memories that he jerks and for some reason feels the blush flaring back up on his cheeks.

“I should?” He asks instinctively, because it feels like the last thing he should do but he's already mentally clearing his schedule.

“You should. Bring Kawai if you want, I haven't seen him in ages.” Kitayama says, his tone so casual Fujigaya wants to strangle him and he's not sure for what reason, watching Kitayama calmly collect his things like he's leaving.

“I... I'm busy but I'll see if I can drop by.” Fujigaya lies and he knows Kitayama can tell from the little smile grazing his soft lips.

“It starts at ten. Don't be late.” Kitayama says simply, standing up. “It was nice seeing you again Taisuke.”

Fujigaya wants to say something back, but the softness with which Kitayama spoke his first name chokes him and he only nods, trying his best to pretend his heart doesn't ache as he watches Kitayama leave.

He leans back in his armchair with a deep sigh as Kitayama disappears from sight, feeling like he can finally breathe without something pressing over his chest, even though there's a lump of old guilt rolling around in his stomach instead.

He curses under his breath and rubs his temple with one hand while reaching for his phone with the other one, ready to call Kawai and unload this whole situation onto him so he doesn't have to suffer alone.

But he freezes as he looks at the time, thinking that it can't be right, so he quickly looks up. As he actually takes in his surroundings he sees that there's not many guests left, the amount of people outside in the corridor have lessened considerably and a few shops on the opposite side have their iron gates drawn. It really is 22:23.

* * *

This time around, Fujigaya hates stepping inside the club, and knowing exactly why only makes him more uncomfortable. He’s got no girlfriend with him to hide behind, no special event to blame his presence on. He’s just a man with styled hair coming to a gay club with another man, and it’s so far from his image of himself and still too close to be comfortable.

He knows everyone assumes Kawai is his boyfriend, knows everyone assumes he’s gay and comfortable with it, knows some of the people in here find him attractive. But it's the knowledge of how people perceive him wrong that is so uncomfortable it makes his skin itch, and what's even worse is the frenzied feeling of panic bubbling in his chest because he’s here to watch Kitayama, willingly and by invitation, and he just knows what a terrible decision it is.

Kawai agreed to come along on several conditions, like Fujigaya paying for everything, doing his hair and not bailing on the coming three times Kawai wants to go clubbing, but it’s worth it to have a friend with him. He could never have gone alone, and he had to go.

Kawai is smug about it all being his idea since he was the one to urge Fujigaya to talk to Kitayama, but Fujigaya decided to let that slide in favour of him actually coming along.

Kitayama’s been occupying his brain so much the past days that he can barely think about anything else. He thinks about soft brown hair and big eyes and black bracelets, thinks about feral eyes and faux fur and dirty hiprolls, about that poor bleach job and shared cigarettes, and it all becomes a mess in his mind. He can’t sort anything out, even if the scenes repeat themselves over and over in his head, the tears and the coffee and the smile, it just makes him even more certain he needs to be here tonight. Settle this, whatever it is.

All he knows is that there’s a building feeling in his chest, frustration or desperation or something similar, and that it makes him want to claw at his own skin until it stops.

He hasn’t heard a word from Kitayama since he left their coffee date, but he didn’t really expect to either. Kitayama probably knew Fujigaya would hesitate until the last second about coming here, but he definitely knew that he would come. They did know each other too well once upon a time, and maybe Fujigaya didn't change that much after all.

Aya's definitely noticed something is up, since he keeps spacing out and not taking her calls, and Fujigaya's been dreading her interrogation. Thankfully, it still hasn't come, but he felt the prelude of it earlier today when she definitely didn't understand why he couldn't come over tonight just because he had to hang out with Kawai. Fujigaya quickly fabricated something about Kawai's family because he really didn't want her to ask to come along, but he's fairly certain she didn't buy it. At least he survived the day, and he hopes that this encounter will clear things up enough that he doesn't have to walk around like a zombie anymore.

They’re pretty early, 9.30 pm, but there are still lots of people inside, the talking loud enough to be heard over the thumping music from the dancefloor upstairs. Fujigaya tries not to meet anyone's eyes as they head to the bar, but it proves hard when it's so crowded.

Kawai's enjoying himself to the fullest, smiling at people they pass that eye them, strutting proudly in his super tight jeans, and Fujigaya finds himself a little irritated with it. Not exactly Kawai's behaviour, but the fact that he has no problem being here or having people look at him because he's comfortable enough in his own heterosexuality. Fujigaya wishes he was too.

“Hey there. Can I buy you something?” Someone suddenly says when Fujigaya's busy looking at the drink list, and he's fidgety enough that he jumps before turning to face the man that approached him.

He's decent looking, hair styled and T-shirt tight, but Fujigaya's heart jumped into his throat and he can't seem to reply. Thankfully, he feels an arm wrap around his shoulders and Kawai leans forward from his other side to look at the guy.

“Dude.” Kawai says, very pointedly, and the guy raises his hands in apology, smiling sheepishly as he backs away.

Fujigaya draws a deep breath of relief.

“Thanks.” He gets out, and Kawai eyes him knowingly, one eyebrow raised.

“Look, if you wind yourself up anymore you're going to snap like an old guitar string.” Kawai tells him, and Fujigaya wants to protest but he knows Kawai's right. “You should just smile and act like you're out of that guy's league because you totally are.”

“I can't relax okay, I don't know what it is.” He admits, any protests faltering at the compliment and Kawai squeezes his shoulders once before letting him go.

“I got you bro.” He reassures, then catches a bartender to order a beer and a double tequila sunrise, and Fujigaya can't help smiling.

“So what's the deal Gaya, care to tell me?” Kawai asks as they sit down by a smaller table a safe distance from the stage, and Fujigaya heaves a sigh that feels bigger than he is because he doesn't really want to talk about it, but Kawai just goes on. “Or do I need to tell you?”

“I don't think I want to hear it.” Fujigaya mutters, because deep down, he knows exactly what's going on, he just tries his hardest to pretend it's not true.

“Well I think you do.” Kawai says, matter of fact as always and Fujigaya takes a large sip of his drink, thinking that he definitely needs tequila to soften whatever Kawai thinks he needs to hear. “I think you've been all for Mitsu always and now you're a wreck because you met him and realized that didn't change one bit. But you still don't want to be gay so you can't act on it and now you're back to where you were a couple years ago. And let me tell you, that wasn't pretty.”

Fujigaya doesn't reply, unsure whether he wants to burst out crying or punch Kawai in the face, so he just drinks some more, but Kawai doesn't push it, just sips his beer and looks around curiously.

“Gay people do dress better, don't they?” He asks then, and Fujigaya's grateful that Kawai dropped the subject, at least for now.

Since clothes is one of Fujigaya's favourite subjects, Kawai easily lures him into conversation, and with some tequila in his system Fujigaya finally finds himself relaxing a little. He even smiles at some guy passing them that gives him a long look, and Kawai pats his shoulder rewardingly with a smile, claiming that he's coming back to his old flirty self.

Fujigaya gets them new drinks and comes back just in time for when the stage lights up and some kind of MC in sparkly suspenders steps onto it.

Fujigaya's heart clenches before it starts racing, the nerves sparking in his entire body, but the man just talks jokingly for a bit, thanking everyone for being there and wishing them a nice evening and enjoy the show. The theme appears to be colours, Fujigaya thinks after a couple performances pass in hues of purple, blue and green, drag queens and scantily clad men dancing or singing or both. He can't say that it's his cup of tea, even though an androgynous looking blonde dressed in black leather dancing dirty with a chair catches his attention, he just wants the performances to be over so he can see Kitayama in fur and black make-up again.

Kawai seems to be fully enjoying himself, catcalling the half naked ones and laughing at the drag queens' jokes, and Fujigaya half expects him to get up in order to join the crowd right in front of the stage and throw money at them.

The performances just keep coming, and Fujigaya finds himself unable to stay as tense as he thought he'd be. The second strong drink of the night definitely helps. After the sixth performance, Fujigaya allows himself to space out a little, picking up his phone instead of paying attention to the men in shorts and bowties, only looking up when the MC steps on stage to say his small flirty jokes and introduce the next act.

Then suddenly it happens. The MC starts presenting a name Fujigaya doesn't know, and he zones back out, only to get kicked by Kawai under the table, hard.

“- Hiromitsu!” The MC finishes and the cheer is somehow different, the lights dimming and there's a sense of anticipation in the air that hasn't been there before.

Fujigaya's confused for a moment, feeling unprepared despite having thought of nothing else besides seeing Kitayama for days, but he didn't expect a different performance. Especially not with someone else.

There's a buzzing sound in the speakers like a radio looking for a channel, and the cheering starts rising in volume like everyone knows what to expect from the dark stage.

The buzzing changes to a crescending intro, and suddenly a spotlight hits the stage, illuminating Kitayama who starts singing the second the light finds him.

He's not looking feral this time, his brown hair soft and untamed, wearing black framed sunglasses with a light enough tint of brown that you can see his eyes right through them, the lustful look obvious to anyone that watches. He's wearing a soft white shirt with only one sleeve that shows off the bare arm muscles shaded by the strong spotlight, and what looks like black suit pants. The song is intense, angry almost, the music with a psychedelic electro vibe, and Kitayama's voice is raw enough to send a shiver up Fujigaya's spine.

Fujigaya's throat feels dry as he watches Kitayama's posture shift, everything about his body language exuding lust and submission, like he wants nothing more than for someone to throw him down and take him hard.

Then there's another spotlight, and Fujigaya frowns as he sees a taller man with a much more dominant posture, dressed in matching clothes but reversed colours, his dark hair messy and his expression surprisingly indifferent.

Something that seems to burn his insides ignites in Fujigaya's chest as he sees how the taller man looks at Kitayama, how they look at each other, like they would fuck right there on stage if they could as they eye each other from a distance.

The sultry choreography matches the lyrics of the duet, Fujigaya realizes as he starts perceiving them, but then wishes he hadn't, because what he hears seems to stab him in several places at once and he feels like his breath was knocked out of him.

Lyrics about clinging to each other, tangled up in sweat, in a love that the world doesn't understand. About the desperate desire to be understood, for all kinds of love to be equal.

Fujigaya can't seem to blink as Kitayama and the other man start approaching each other, mirror images as they find each other at the center of the stage, slowly walking in a circle and their eyes seem to burn as they meet, making Fujigaya want to kill something.

The lighting turns red as Kitayama's voice drop in an almost rap like part, eyelids heavy as he shifts his weight, but at the final line he looks up from under lashes and his eyes send a jolt of shocking electricity through Fujigaya's body as the lyrics seem to hang in the air. Lyrics about being alienated for being different and whether it's worth it or not.

There's a chorus, and the wave of ice cold guilt Fujigaya just felt is swallowed up by jealous black flames as Kitayama and the man finally touch, both hands lacing together as they dance, mirroring each other as they first cling close to each other, then part, only one set of hands holding them together as they act out to be physically torn apart.

The lyrics bring them back together, and Fujigaya's insides boil as they grasp onto the hem of each others shirts, teasingly lifting it a little without without looking, almost like they're ashamed of doing it, before parting completely.

They dance in a circle around each other, advanced choreography and Fujigaya would be impressed if he wasn't so furious and Kitayama's facial expression wasn't so accusing yet wanting.

He thinks the worst part is over, but then they both kneel as they share a bridge of the song, and Fujigaya can't figure out what they're doing on the floor. Until they emerge with sticky paint on one hand, the thick white substance dripping from Kitayama's fingers like it was something else entirely and Fujigaya's cheeks immediately flush at the association.

His eyes are glued to it, barely glancing right to see the other man with jet black covering his fingers, the heavy white drops and Kitayama's heavy breathing much more enticing.

Until the chorus part, where Kitayama whirls around and the other man stretches his bare arm out to allow for Kitayama's fingers to smear sticky white all the way from the man's shoulder to his wrist. Fujigaya can't help the small affronted noise he makes, the jealousy choking him as Kitayama spins back around to offer his own arm to the man, his hair flicking against his forehead with the force of his movement. Those fingers touching Kitayama's bare skin leave black, a thick start and a thinner smear before the pressure returns while Kitayama heaves a breath like the touch is the relief he's been waiting for.

The fingers withdraw and they switch places while stroking their own colour onto their arms, creating an abstract picture of white, black and gray, before returning to each other. The man in black steps up behind Kitayama, laying an arm across his chest protectively, and Kitayama leans back against him as his eyelashes flutter, fingertips reaching up to brush the sticky arm holding him close.

Then he spins around to free himself, and Fujigaya's eyes linger on the black stains he got on his white shirt, before the man in black drops to his knees like he's done it a million times, and it's Kitayama's turn to wrap a painted arm around him. At least that only looks like choreography, his hand barely touching the black shirt and withdrawing as quickly as it came in favour of helping the kneeling man up. The final line of being destined to love each other echoes in Fujigaya's head as he watches them pointing at each other, before lacing their sticky hands together and raising them in a victorious gesture, turning to face the audience with challenging expressions and heaving breaths. Then the stage goes dark.

Fujigaya doesn't listen to the cheering, the whistling and the MC being unable to speak without hushing the crowd, only tries to keep breathing, to quench the ugly sticking jealousy in his chest while trying not to drown in the guilt.

“What... Exactly did he say to you when he asked you to come?” Kawai breaks him out of his soundproof bubble after a while, and Fujigaya turns to look at him, which makes Kawai's eyes widen and he quickly looks away again because his eyes must betray what he's feeling.

“That I should come see his show.” Fujigaya replies, hearing the slight tremble of tension in his own voice and he draws another deep breath to try and ease it out but he feels so highly strung he doubts it's going to help.

“Nothing else?” Kawai prods, and Fujigaya shrugs, blinking a couple times just in case before turning back to look at Kawai, hoping the most intimidating part is gone.

“No.” He says simply, pretty disinterested in what Kitayama said before and much more interested in how the hell he's going to see him tonight.

Kawai looks closely at him for a moment, then shrugs and goes back to watching the stage where another performance starts. Fujigaya's not sure how many more there are before the MC seems to be wrapping up the show, telling everyone to have a good time dancing and says some cheesy shit about love, Fujigaya doesn't care. He doesn't see anything, his eyes locked on a spot on the table before him as his mind races, trying to force down memories that want to be untangled, but he's not having much success.

Kitayama smiling at him like he was the entire world, stroking a strand of long hair behind his ear, telling him his hair looked ridiculous in the most affectionate tone. Kitayama with pink cheeks, hooded eyes and glossy lips after Fujigaya shoved him into a wall and kissed him like he deserved to be kissed. Kitayama staring at him after he spoke the worst words of his life, the pain and disappointment bare and obvious in his eyes for a long moment before he arranged his features to try and hide it, but the gloss wouldn't go away.

“Hey Gaya.” Kawai's voice once again forces him back to reality, and Fujigaya looks up to see Kawai glancing towards he bar. “Get me a drink.”

“What, why? You already have one.” Fujigaya frowns, glaring at the half full beer bottle before Kawai on the table.

“I want a cocktail. You promised to pay.” Kawai tells him, as usual unaffected by Fujigaya's mood.

Fujigaya swears under his breath but gets up, snatching his phone back from the table as he heads towards the bar, trying to ignore the problem in his pants that he didn't even notice until he stood up.

At least he's wearing baggy jeans so it's not obvious.

He makes his way to the bar with some effort since the place has gotten even more crowded since they arrived, and people seem to flock around the bar.

When he meets a drag queen with a light blue wig that was on stage earlier tonight he realizes that the performers seem to be out and about, but it doesn't actually hit him until he reaches the bar and sees it.

Kitayama, smiling at some random person while handing them two bottles of cider before turning to the next person waving money, those fucking sunglasses still on and a whole white, lightly patterned shirt, sleeves rolled up for practicality, all paint washed off. His stage partner is next to him along with one of the bow tie men, and Fujigaya's eyes linger as the man pours shots into four glasses on the counter, seriously thinking about walking over there and throwing the glasses at his face and hoping they do some actual damage.

But then he feels eyes on him and he instinctively turns back, Kitayama's dark eyes locking with his through shaded glass and Fujigaya stops caring about that man in black.

There's only a slight nod to his right, but Fujigaya understands and starts making his way to the edge of the bar, feeling several sets of eyes on him as Kitayama meets him, tossing a black apron behind him as he guides Fujigaya to the staff door he pathetically tried to get through last time.

He's wearing the suit pants from earlier as well, and his hair is a little sweaty, small ringlets of dark hair glued to the back of his neck as he wordlessly brings Fujigaya through a corridor lit in fluorescent lights.

There's laughter from an open door that they pass, but Fujigaya couldn't care less, getting glimpses of tiny dressing rooms filled with feathers and fur and he wonders where they're going. Not that it matters.

It's one of the last doors in the corridor, the thumping from the dancefloor resounding through the ceiling but otherwise a quiet area, and Fujigaya steps inside a small dressing room with three mirrors, clothing racks filled with black, white, red and gold. It smells like soap, hairspray and cologne, a little sweaty and a little dirty, but it doesn't matter as Kitayama closes the door behind him and his eyes lock on Fujigaya again, dark and intense but hard to read behind the glass.

He parts his lips like he's about to say something, but Fujigaya's not ready to talk, and it's not an active decision when he steps forward and backs Kitayama up against the door.

Kitayama gasps against his lips and Fujigaya can't help it as he leans in to kiss him.

There's barely a heartbeat of hesitation before Kitayama kisses back, arms raising to lock around Fujigaya's neck to bring him closer, and Fujigaya's head is already spinning.

Kitayama's lips are just as soft and plush as he couldn't help remembering even when he tried to forget, and he makes a desperate little noise as he clutches at Kitayama's hips before licking at his lips to make them part.

Kitayama's tongue is hot against his own, a filthy sound resounding from the back of his throat as Fujigaya kisses him so fiercely his head thumps back against the door, and Kitayama's hand clutches a handful of his hair, pulling just enough to drive Fujigaya crazy and make his hips jerk on their own.

Kitayama groans as Fujigaya's erection rubs against his hipbone, his legs spreading more reflexively than willingly and Fujigaya pushes closer to him, forcing him flush against the door as he grinds against him.

Fujigaya's hands drag along Kitayama's arms that are holding him tight, like he could erase the other man's touch by doing so, and one of Kitayama's legs wrap around Fujigaya's to get him even closer.

The dirty kiss breaks, both of them with heaving breath and Fujigaya stares down at Kitayama's puffy lips and dark, dark eyes that seem to knock the breath out of him just like they did on stage. Then Kitayama's hips roll up against Fujigaya's and his eyes fall closed on a rough moan, his hands falling to Kitayama's belt and start pulling at it because he can't wait.

Kitayama makes a small, broken sound as his head falls back, exposing his neck and Fujigaya presses parted lips against his jugular, tasting the rapid beat of his pulse and he can feel him swallow as Fujigaya pops the button of his suit pants.

A gorgeous moan is breathed into Fujigaya's hair as he slips his hand into dark underwear, one of Kitayama's hands purposely tugging at his hair while the other slips under the hem of his T-shirt, making Fujigaya shudder.

Kitayama's cock is hard and heavy in his hand, but it feels good, and he strokes like he remembers to, causing Kitayama to moan desperately as he clutches so hard at Fujigaya that he's pulled closer, intertwined from their legs to the hand in his hair.

Fujigaya's lips find Kitayama's face, kissing his cheek bone and temple and jawline, tugging at the sparkling earring with his teeth and Kitayama's gasping for breath in his arms, giving Fujigaya a sense of power that's so dangerous.

Then Kitayama pushes him back forcibly, making Fujigaya take a stumbling step back as he wonders for a split second if he's being rejected, until Kitayama steps forward and reaches for a drawer under the long make up counter.

His ass looks so inviting as he bends down to get the supplies, and Fujigaya walks up behind him to grab it, feeling the firm muscles in his hands as Kitayama looks up at him through the mirror, cheeks glowing pink and the sweat beading at his temples.

Fujigaya catches his own reflection in the slightly dusty mirror and he's never seen himself look so turned on, his own cheeks just as pink, his hair wild from Kitayama's pulling at it and his eyes so dark they don't seem to hold any colour.

Kitayama watches him through the mirror too, holding his gaze as he lays a tube of lubrication and a condom on the counter, before pointedly resting his forearms against the shiny surface, remaining in his bent over position.

Fujigaya doesn't hesitate to grasp the waistband of Kitayama's open pants and pulling them down along with the underwear, exposing his ass and he can't keep from squeezing it once more before reaching for the lube. He feels Kitayama watching him squirt lube onto his fingers, and it makes him a little self conscious, his fingers trembling the slightest as he lowers them to where they're supposed to go. He's careful when he twists the first finger inside, but Kitayama's moan is guttural and filthy as his eyes fall closed and he arches like this is all he ever wanted, and Fujigaya's chest swells for several reasons.

He leans down quickly to distract himself from it, attaching his lips to Kitayama's sweaty neck and grinds his erection against Kitayama's ass cheek while working to open him up with his fingers. His own little moans and grunts slip out close to Kitayama's ear as he trails wet kisses along his throat, and every little sound makes Kitayama clench around his fingers and it's so hot he doesn't know what to do with himself.

When he's three fingers in and moving easily, he withdraws from Kitayama's neck, unapologetically seeing he's left a hickey, probably two, because that only feels like justification compared to the other man smearing paint all over him.

Kitayama's eyes are feverish in the mirror, glasses slipping a little on his nose as he breathes through parted lips, and Fujigaya can't get his fingers free and pants open faster. His fingers tremble when he rolls on the condom, but he's steady as he positions himself, starting to push inside while his hands find Kitayama's on the counter, lacing their fingers together much like in the choreography he did on stage.

A weak little sound leaves Kitayama's lips at the action, and he pushes back against Fujigaya where he's leaning over him, pushing inside him slow and steady.

The heat around his erection is so tight, so different and yet so familiar and Fujigaya's head falls forward against Kitayama's shoulder as he tries to breathe through the pressure.

Kitayama turns his head, plush wet lips brushing Fujigaya's cheek and nosetip before Fujigaya turns to help out, tongues tangling in an open-mouthed kiss as Fujigaya bottoms out, the rim of Kitayama's glasses pressing against his temple.

Kitayama clenches tight around him and Fujigaya breaks the kiss to moan shamelessly, his eyes fluttering open to find Kitayama watching them in the mirror with hooded eyes. He tightens his fingers around Kitayama's and then tries a first, shallow thrust that has Kitayama's lips soundlessly parting and his eyes falling closed, looking so wanton Fujigaya's second thrust is involuntary. But Kitayama's whine is all appreciation, his fingers under Fujigaya's own curling against the table surface, and Fujigaya picks up a deep, slow pace.

Kitayama all but writhes underneath him, high pitching moans mixing in with low growls as pushes back and up against him like he can't get close enough.

Fujigaya's thighs are hurting but he doesn't care, covering as much of Kitayama's body as he can with his own, breathing his own desperate noises into Kitayama's warm hair or against his neck. He doesn't know for how long he keeps his slow pace, but Kitayama's shuddering underneath him, the flush on his cheeks spreading down past the neckline of his shirt and his bangs hang in whisps against his forehead, and Fujigaya's so close he can't keep it slow anymore.

As soon as he starts speeding up Kitayama shakes off one of Fujigaya's hands before his own slams back against the surface to hold himself up, and Fujigaya knows a hint when he sees one, reaching down to find Kitayama's cock rock hard and leaking.

He spreads the precome over the head, causing Kitayama to make a mewling sound before he properly wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking.

Both their noises are breathless and mixes into a perfect harmony together, and Fujigaya only needs one look at them together in the mirror to come so hard he sees stars before his eyes.

Kitayama whimpers and his cock twitches in Fujigaya's grip before spurting, his whole body tensing as his small moans fight with each other to come out.

There's a moment of silence as they catch their breath together, and Fujigaya can feel his pulse in his entire body, feeling overheated and so, so satisfied by the best orgasm he can remember having in years.

He's sweaty and gross, the backs of his thighs protesting as he straightens up and pulls out, his reflection looking as confused as he feels with his hot cheeks and crackling heart.

He quickly discards the condom in a trash bin he spots underneath the make up counter, and tries not to look as Kitayama straightens up but he can't help it. He's so gorgeous, and he looks so thoroughly _fucked _that Fujigaya's insides clench with something that's not only arousal or possession, and he realizes that he has to get out of here as soon as possible.

Kitayama makes a face as he stands up properly, reaching up to slip off the sunglasses and Fujigaya sees the red marks on his arms from the counter edge, sees the blooming hickeys on his neck and the sticky substance on his shirt, the satisfied glow about him.

He quickly pulls his own pants back up and fastens them, combing his hair down with his fingers as he turns and heads for the door.

“Taisuke?” Kitayama's low, husky voice cracks a little, and Fujigaya knows he shouldn't but he can't resist as he pauses with his hand on the door handle, turning back to look at Kitayama lazily fastening up his pants again.

His eyes are alarmed even if his voice is calm, and Fujigaya sees how vulnerable he is, how much this is going to hurt him, and he can't stand to do it one more time.

He quickly turns around and hurries to get the door open, fleeing the scene and doesn't stop his half run until he's gotten his jacket and he's halfway to the train station.

He knows it's obvious what he's done just by looking at him, and the blush of shame on his cheeks won't go down even as he leans his face against a metal bar on the train. He pulls his phone out for an excuse not to look at anyone, and he suddenly remembers Kawai as his phone unlocks to show him the social media he used to distract himself earlier.

_I left_

He types in their chat, no energy to explain anything further, and he sees his message get read almost immediately, a 'what, why?' popping up in response and suddenly he's crying.

He closes his eyes to try and will the tears to stop but it doesn't work, and as his phone vibrates in his hand he reflexively looks down at the screen only to feel his heart drop to his stomach like a stone in deep water. The message is short but it's enough for Fujigaya to burst out crying for real, hurrying to leave the train even though he's only halfway home because he can't sit there around people and dissolve into tears.

_If you have any shame in your body, you'll call me_

* * *

In the end, Fujigaya walks home, crying out all of his confusion and guilt and frustration until he falls asleep exhausted. He's woken up the next morning by Kawai banging the front door and demanding to know what's going on, so Fujigaya lets him in and tells him briefly what happened before crying some more.

It's a credit to how good of a friend Kawai is that he doesn't actually do any reprimanding even though Fujigaya can see exactly what a jerk Kawai thinks he is. But before he leaves in the late afternoon, he tells Fujigaya that Kitayama's right. If he has any shame, he should call.

But Fujigaya can't call.

Instead, he calls Aya and asks if he can come over, heart hurting a little at how happy she sounds when he knows what he has to do. He's prepared for the shock and anger, but he's not prepared for the tears and her saying she might be willing to forgive him for cheating if he swears never to do it again. He says that he can't and that she deserves someone better, and he leaves her apartment with the small collection of things he kept there, feeling more empty than ever before.

He goes to work Monday morning and he tries his hardest to act normal, to smile for the kids and be nice to his colleagues, and it works, but it drains his energy so badly he goes home and crashes in bed without even taking his jacket off.

He lies there starting at the ceiling, the uninhibited thoughts that have been stalking him the past days spinning around in his mind once again.

He suddenly remembers so clearly what happened, it's a wonder he ever managed to supress it.

The first time he saw Kitayama something jumped inside him. A little sparkle of interest he thought back then, in the older guy with the bleached hair and jewellery, and he wanted to be friends with him. He kept tagging along when their mutual friends hung out, quickly approaching Kitayama because he was braver back then, and even though it was clear Kitayama thought he was pretty shallow and a little airheaded, he still stuck around Fujigaya.

They were never really just friends, tension obvious between them from the beginning, and when the electricity was finally so charged it couldn't take anymore, it exploded. They kissed at a shady home party under influence of alcohol that shouldn't be there, a sloppy but amazing kiss, and then didn't speak about it, both pretending to have forgotten.

Fujigaya didn't think he was gay, not when he liked girls so much, but there was something special about Kitayama, something important and he wanted to be around him, touch him, listen to his stupid talk and watch his stupid face. The kiss still haunted him at the most inappropriate moments, even when he convinced himself that Kitayama had just been drunk and it didn't mean anything.

Until it meant something, and Kitayama punched him straight in the face with eyes glowing in anger, before kissing him like nobody else had ever kissed him before and Fujigaya was lost.

Their relationship was a mess, fighting and dirty sex and hurt feelings mixed with tender kisses and soft words, handholding late at night in summer heat. It was perfect, until Fujigaya realized it couldn't stay an exciting secret forever. And that his vision of the future didn't include another man.

He wanted a family, kids, someone he could take out for dinner dates and present to his proud parents, someone he could marry. With Kitayama, he could have none of that, at least not without fighting for it and being looked down upon by the rest of the world, and he didn't think he could handle it, no matter how deeply he felt for Kitayama. He didn't even think of himself as homosexual, and he wasn't ready to walk into battle for something he didn't stand for.

Kitayama was ice cold when Fujigaya finally told him, face expressionless but eyes saying everything, the pain and heartbreak mirrored in them and Fujigaya couldn't look at him. A single tear formed itself from the gloss in Kitayama's eyes and started trailing down his cheek as he told Fujigaya that he was a sleazy coward and that he couldn't believe he used to love him.

“Goodbye Taisuke.”

It still rings loud and clear in his head, the words thick and broken, hurt but cold before Kitayama turned on his heel and left, leaving Fujigaya regretting what happened for years to come.

But as he lies on top of his covers in bed, thinking about what might have been, he still comes back to the same thing. He still wants those kids, wants a marriage and a happy family. At the same time, he doesn't think he's ever loved anyone like he loved Kitayama.

* * *

It's Thursday afternoon and Fujigaya is happy to have survived the week so far, even though his colleagues are starting to give him worried looks and discreet comments about him looking unwell. He barely sleeps and has no appetite, but at least he functions and he figures he'll take the weekend to try and get himself back upright. He just has to survive Friday first.

He's so relieved to get out of work that he intially misses the figure leaning against the fence just outside the yard, and it causes him to jump as he looks up from closing the gate behind him and finds Kitayama staring at him.

He's wearing a plain blue T-shirt and jeans, the same hat as when they went out for coffee and a leather shoulder bag with a jacket hung over it, but Fujigaya's eyes are drawn to his neck like magnetism to the two healing hickeys.

Kitayama's expression is resolute but he seems to take in how terrible Fujigaya looks and the tension in his shoulders relax a little.

“Care for a walk?” He asks, and Fujigaya nods before he can make an active decision.

Kitayama turns and starts walking, and Fujigaya follows, falling into step with him as the silence feels like it's choking him.

“How did you know where I work?” He finally asks just to have something to say, and Kitayama shrugs with a joyless smile.

“Kawai told me.”

Stupid Kawai. A harsh comment is on the tip of Fujigaya's tounge, but he knows he can't run away forever anyway and this might be for the best.

“I didn't think you two talked.” He settles for, and the slightly hurt feelings slip out into his voice as he thinks about what Kawai and Kitayama could say about him behind his back.

“We didn't. Until you didn't reply.” Kitayama says coldly and Fujigaya figures that he deserved that.

“I'm sorry.” He finally gets out, the words small because he knows he has no right to ask to be forgiven.

Kitayama doesn't reply, simply takes a turn and Fujigaya comes along, figuring they're headed towards the river, silently wondering how Kitayama finds his way in this area.

“Kawai told me you broke up with your girlfriend.” Kitayama speaks up after a few minutes of walking in silence, and Fujigaya wets his lips.

“Yeah.” He says simply, uncertain how to add anything to that without everything spilling out.

There's another silence as they reach the river, and Kitayama slows to a stop by a viewpoint, leaning his arms on the protective railing as he looks at the cityscape bathing in evening sun on the other side.

Fujigaya crosses his arms because he doesn't know what to do with them and pointedly leans his back against the railing instead, staring blindly at the road in front of him.

“You're the worst type of asshole, do you know that?” Kitayama finally says after another long silence, his voice low and even. “You do exactly what you please without caring about other people, and still it's impossible not to care about you.”

“I don't-” Fujigaya starts, but Kitayama silences him with a glare, straightening up from his leaning position as he fixes Fujigaya with his eyes.

“You do. Just because you can't sort out your fucking feelings if your life depended on it doesn't mean you can walk around and let that hurt others.” Kitayama says sharply, and Fujigaya wishes he didn't have to hear it because he knows it's true. “You didn't grow up a single bit in five years Taisuke, how does that feel?”

Fujigaya breaks eyecontact with a shrug, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that he's about to start crying soon. “Terrible.”

“I bet.” Kitayama says acidly, and Fujigaya shifts uncomfortably. “You're such a coward and I can't even figure out what you're afraid of.”

“What I'm afraid of?” Fujigaya repeats, his voice gaining strength as he glares back at Kitayama, because that's the most obvious part. “Rejection, my family disowning me, losing my job? Not to mention society looking down on me like I'm some kind of freak, losing all the rights I would have normally? Like getting married to someone I love. Having kids.”

“Yes, but how realistic are those fears really?” Kitayama asks, fire in his voice as he glares at Fujigaya. “Your family wouldn't reject you, they love you. Your friends already know, and what would your job care, it's not like loving someone makes you dangerous to kids? Yes, you wouldn't be able to get married traditionally, you might not be able to have your kids the way you wanted to have them, but fuck Taisuke, those things can be worked out if you're just willing to fight for them!”

Fujigaya bites his lip, silently thinking about how Kitayama might be right and he's just building up his fears in an unreasonable way because he doesn't want to accept that what he's really afraid of is judgement.

“It's your stupid self image that's the issue, that you're scared of what people in general is going to think about you. You're just blaming all those things so you can take the easy way out, and that's disgusting.” Kitayama tells him, and it hits straight where Fujigaya's been trying to hide it from himself. “I never forgave you for that.”

Fujigaya doesn't reply, trying to cope with all the emotions Kitayama stirs up and he's not sure he can handle the self loathing he feels right now.

“Look, Taisuke...” Kitayama sighs, the anger fading in favour of resignation. “I never stopped thinking about you. Even if they weren't good thoughts. And either we sort this out now or we just keep going through life trying to avoid each other. Clearly that didn't work out because you felt the need to go to a gay club, the last place I ever thought I'd run into you.”

“... I don't know what to say.” Fujigaya says honestly, because he has no idea how to voice his thoughts when he doesn't even know what they are.

“I'm going to give you a choice.” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya looks at him, really looks at him, seeing the hope and doubt and pain radiating from his eyes and he finds his chest tightening. “Either you say that you want me, and you can have me. We can try this dance again, as adults, but only if you're certain you won't walk out on me for the same reasons one more time. Or we can go back to co-existing and possibly never seeing each other, and I'll forgive you for what you did on the condition that you never, ever, lead me on again.”

Fujigaya stares at him, knowing deep down that it's a fair choice, but he can't make a decision like that in a heartbeat, doesn't know what it is he feels or how he's going to feel in the future, the fears towering over him and shadowing everything else.

“I'm heading back to the station.” Kitayama says calmly. “If you make up your mind, you've got about ten minutes to catch up with me.”

And he turns and starts walking, leaving Fujigaya standing there with his turmoil of emotions. The flashback is so strong he can't seem to breathe, the hopelessness, guilt and panic at what he just let slip through his fingers cracking his heart into pieces.

He draws a deep, shaky breath, and then doesn't think twice before he starts running.


End file.
